Magic Doll
by Twizardck
Summary: Arthur has had a hard life and from all the sadness comes his creation, his doll, Alfred. Oneshot, brotherly, non-romantic USUK. Human names used. Gift fic for APHxENGLAND. Rated T to be safe.


**Magic Doll**

**A Twizardck Production**

**I do not own Hetalia.**

**Author's Note: This is a gift fic for APHxENGLAND, as a thank you for all the work she does keeping me from going absolutely insane. It isn't that great, but I know that she'll like it, because she always does (because she's a messed up person like that). Love you as a friend Iggy. Please read and review all of you out there!**

O.o.O

The first thing I remember is opening my eyes and his face was there. Peering at me, green eyes full of hope and curiosity. I loved those eyes. They were the part of his face that held emotion. So little of the rest of him showed anything.

But that day he smiled. That day he hugged me, arms wrapping hard around my delicate body, firm but gentle, knowing my limitations. He my hair with his hand and let his white teeth show. Let it be known that he was _happy_.

I did not know this strange, foreign thing. This happiness. I just blinked at him and said, "Big brother."

And so it was. He was my big brother. Arthur.

Alfred is what he called me. Magic is what he said I was. I didn't feel magic. I felt horrendously delicate and porcelain. But he said that I was magic. He said that was why I could move. Why I could walk around. Why I grew just like any other boy.

I did not believe in this magic. But I believed in my big brother.

He wasn't easiest to get along with. He was strict and sometimes overly harsh. He would come home sometimes with the smell of beer on his breath. And when that happened he'd scream at me, tell me that I was stupid and idiotic.

But I still believed in him. For when he woke up the next morning he'd come to me, those emotion filled eyes pained, and hug me, say that he was sorry. I knew that he was. He didn't mean anything of it. Arthur had lived a hard life. That's why he built me.

He'd sit by the fire with me and tell me stories. Stories of what had happened to him. Of his desperate mother who sold everything she had to keep her son fed. Of his alcoholic father who would stop in every once in a while to beat him. Of his older brother who was now sentenced to death for the murder of eighteen girls, including Arthur's fiancée. Of the mental institutes that he'd escaped from. And he would tell me it all because he needed to get it off his chest. But I could still hear him cry at night.

And I wanted to cry. I could feel the tears prick at the back of my eyes. But as Arthur had told me, the magic wasn't perfect. I couldn't cry. It wasn't possible. I couldn't show emotions. The magic kept me alive, it let me talk, it let me grow. But it didn't do much else.

He had other people. A tall blonde man named Francis, who I didn't much like, but was nice enough. A boy who looked rather like me, but rather like Francis too, called Matthew. He was interesting. It was strange how he could just stand there and seemingly fade in and out of sight. Like a ghost. But a nice ghost.

It was raining that night. You could hear it against the windows; hear the insistent thrumming on the roof. We were by the fire, and he was leaning towards me, crying harder than ever before. I wanted to cover my ears. But I couldn't. I couldn't do that to Arthur.

"You want to know why I made you Alfred? Because of my little brother. My other little brother, my human one. He was named Alfred too. But he hates me now. Left England for America because he hates me."

And he was crying more than he cried when he talked about when his mother died. Crying more than when he talked about his fiancée's funeral. Crying more than when he talked about how his older sister had died and left him with no place to go, out on the street to fend for himself when he was just ten.

But that night he told me happy stories too. Stories of finding Alfred, another homeless boy, and how the two of them worked together to survive. Stories of gaining Alfred's trust enough for the younger boy to bring him to meet Matthew. Stories of the three of them being found by a tall Frenchman, who I learned to be Francis, and how he had taken them in and given them a home. Stories of going to the university, of studying music – voice and guitar.

And stories of how Alfred hadn't forgiven him for leaving to go to school. And why he no longer sang and played his guitar. Because Alfred had loved his music. And playing reminded him too much of his failure as an older brother.

I stood and put my hand on Arthur's shoulder. It was the most I could do. And it seemed to help. He turned and smiled at me.

It was then that the door flew open, kicked down by harsh boot. Fear fled through Arthur's eyes and he pushed me towards the shadows, standing up and striding to door, trying to block it with his body. All I could see from where I stood was a white hand as it smacked Arthur across the face. He cried out.

"Hey little brother," a harsh voice snarled. A male voice. A voice I would apply to the personification of a snake.

Arthur didn't move from the door, but I knew without having to see that it wasn't Francis that was there. It wasn't Francis, the only person I had met who called Arthur 'little brother.' Which meant that it must be…

"Anthony." My guardian's voice shook, and I saw his ash blonde hair quiver as he trembled. "How did you get out of prison?"

Another resounding slap and another cry of pain. "Move aside and hand it over. It's worth a lot."

"What are you talking about?" There were tears in Arthur's voice now. I'd come to know his crying voice. He was in pain. I wanted to run to him and force the door closed. Wanted to be a real human, like the other Alfred. If I was, then I could help.

"The doll. I know all about it. And in return for it, my freedom will be permanent. You don't want me locked up forever do you? Just hand over the doll."

Just as Arthur started to speak, "N-" he was pushed out of the way and a few men walked into the house. Anthony, tall and blonde with green eyes, but not like Arthur's. Not kind like Arthur's. Not emerald. No, a muddy green.

He saw me. And he started to walk toward where I was cowering in the shadows.

"No, no, STOP! Leave him alone!" Arthur scrambled towards me and planted himself right in Anthony's way.

A wave of the other man's hand and Arthur was all of a sudden being held down by two other men, with what looked like a gun held to his chest. And Anthony was reaching out to me, calling out orders.

A loud bang and Arthur fell limp. The noise startled me, caused me to step backward, trip, fall. Feel a crack run down my face. Hear the curse fly from the hoarse voice of Anthony. I lay there, trying not to move, and the men left, Anthony running his mouth about how now they needed to disappear.

The instant the door closed I scrambled to my feet and over to Arthur, trying to ignore the pain brought on by the crack in my cheek. I placed my hands on the blood seeping from my brother's wound and then did the unthinkable, impossible – started to cry.

Emerald eyes, dull and tired, stared up at me, and a slight smile poked around Arthur's lips. "Amazing. Just amazing. Alfred, I l-" And then he fell silent.

"No. no. Arthur," I whispered, lifting up his head onto my lap. I called everything I knew about him to the front of my mind. And then I started to sing. Softly, and without any talent, I was sure.

I sang. And sang. And sang. And even when the door opened I continued. Even when Francis and Matthew came up behind me I continued. I only stopped when I was pulled away and the ambulance came, taking Arthur from me. And then I just lay on the floor and cried. Allowed this new thing, these tears, to spill down my imperfect cheeks.

It was a while before I was allowed to see my brother again. Francis and Matthew waited out in the lobby as I went into his hospital room. He just lay there, sleeping. The doctors told me he hadn't woken up yet.

Another person was there. I only saw his back, covered in a brown leather jacket. Could only see the back of his head, a dark dirty-blonde. Could only see the wild hair that refused to lay straight… just like mine.

He wasn't crying. He was just staring at Arthur, and when I got closer I saw that his face was pale. Saw that his blue eyes – blue like mine – were full of tears that refused to spill, and his glasses – I had glasses too – were fogged up. Saw that he was just about my height.

"Alfred?" I asked. And he turned to me.

His face told me that he already knew everything about me. And I was sure that mine told him the same about him. I knew everything.

He stood and walked the couple of steps to me. He looked me straight in the eyes, reached out his arms, and brought me into a hug. We stood that way for a second before I brought my own, porcelain arms around him. And he whispered into my ear, "thank you."

And that was all that needed to be said. We both turned back to Arthur, and I pulled up a chair to wait. We would wait for Arthur to wake up, so that when he does, he can smile at both of his little brothers.


End file.
